


Between the Shores of Our Souls

by Goldberry



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Child Death, Consensual Sex, Drift Bond, Drift Compatibility, Drift Hangover, Drift Side Effects, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Ghost Drifting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Medical Trauma, Mind Meld, Murder, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Drift (Pacific Rim), Revenge, Separation Anxiety, Sexual Content, The Drift (Pacific Rim), The Wives ship Max/Furiosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldberry/pseuds/Goldberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max knows all about Furiosa. He’s read the articles, seen the interviews. It's hard not to know who she is in a world where Jaeger pilots are a dying breed, their stars falling in bursts of sudden, blazing glory before being swallowed by the sea and what lies beneath it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Max & the Fury

**Author's Note:**

> The Mad Max/Pacific Rim crossover we all sorta, kinda wanted, maybe?

The day Valkyrie digs him out of the Alaskan shithole he would never call home she slaps a thick file into his hands and says, evenly, “The Fury needs you. Time to suit up.”

* * *

  
 Max knows all about Furiosa. He’s read the articles, seen the interviews. It's hard not to know who she is in a world where Jaeger pilots are a dying breed, their stars falling in bursts of sudden, blazing glory before being swallowed by the sea and what lies beneath it.

Furiosa becomes a pilot at 22. Her simulator scores are off the chart, her mechanical skills close behind. Her co-pilot is her mother, Mary Jo, a perceptive, elegant woman who - from the faded photo under Max’s palm - shares her daughter’s striking green eyes. The rest of Furiosa’s family consists of five younger sisters - Angharad, Toast, Capable, Dag, Cheedo - and a stepfather, Joe.

Joe is everywhere in Furiosa’s file. There are psych evals with notes like e _stranged relationship with stepfather_ and _possible past abuse_. What is worse are the medical records, weekly exams from the Thunderdome’s medical staff - _bruising and ligature marks on wrists, fractured tibia, vaginal tear and evidence of sexual trauma_. Every week it seems like there’s a new injury. Furiosa breaks ribs, fingers and exhibits more and more signs of being sexually abused. The doctors note that, when asked if she wants to report something, Furiosa declines. Max feels the muscles in his shoulders tighten. Back in the day, those same doctors would have been required to report possible abuse but things are different now. He can read it clearly. They can’t lose a pilot so they do nothing.

Furiosa’s mother dies in a fight with a Category 3. She’s ripped forcibly from the cockpit and Furiosa loses her left arm but she kills the Kaiju and gets the Jaeger back to shore on her own. She spends three weeks in the Thunderdome’s med bay before being sent home to recover with her family.

A week later her stepfather, Joe, is dead from a bullet to the brain a day after Furiosa's sister, Angharad, is killed in a car accident. Joe is ruled a suicide.

Max reads that line again and wonders. After Joe’s death, Furiosa comes back to the Thunderdome as Valkyrie’s Imperator, her second-in-command and in charge of Jaeger restoration. She spends the next two years doggedly keeping their hulking robots in working order by the power of her blood, sweat and fury. She never sets foot in a cockpit again.

Max exhales and closes the file. In the seat next to him, Valkyrie is watching him.

“Why does she need me?”

“Because I say she does,” Valkyrie replies immediately, “and because she spent three hours solo piloting an old Jaeger when Sydney was attacked and she’ll die if she has to go out again alone.”

Max feels cold, sudden anger rising up through his chest. “You let her solo pilot?” Solo piloting was almost impossible - two pilots were needed to share the neural load of interfacing with such a large mechanical unit or a pilot could stroke, suffer brain damage. He, himself, had never solo piloted. When Jessie died he simply stopped.

Valkyrie only arches a smooth eyebrow at him. “And my other choice was to what? Let the Kaiju destroy Sydney? All the other Jaegers had been deployed elsewhere and the program has no spare pilots anymore. None that can match Furiosa, at any rate.”

He interprets what she does not say. “But you think I can.”

She nods and the corners of her mouth turn up a bit. “I think you can.”

 

* * *

 

Valkyrie takes him to Sydney and they fly over the wreckage of the Opera House and the Sydney Harbour Bridge. That was as far as the Kaijuu got before Furiosa stopped it, it’s massive body a decaying ruin in Walsh Bay.

The Thunderdome in Sydney is very much like the one he’d been stationed at years ago in Los Angeles. It’s big, loud, and crowded - everything that sets Max’s nerves on edge and sends memories skittering across the edges of his mind. He makes it ten feet inside before he realizes it’s a terrible mistake, what the fuck is he even doing here, he’s not a pilot anymore, he can’t—

A stretcher with a med crew pass him, one of the nurses hauling a saline drip, another leaning over the rails of the stretcher as if to protect the patient from the noise of the Thunderdome. And there is noise, such noise that it rises from the mouths of every engineer, mechanic and computer tech on the floor as the stretcher wheels by, every hand half-lifted in gentle salute.

Furiosa, is the name that lifts from a thousand lips, and Max turns to catch green eyes in a pale, bruised face, one pupil blown, the white of the eye bloodshot. Blood is running from the ear on that side too but she is wheeled by him too fast for him to catch much more. He stares after her, he’s not sure how long, until Valkyrie moves into his line of sight, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“Well?”

He shifts the duffel bag on his shoulder and looks away. “So where’s the Rig?”

 

* * *

 

From her file he knows that Furiosa’s Jaeger is the War Rig, a massive old Mark-1. Seeing it Max understands exactly what it is - a brutal, Kaijuu-killing machine. It stands in it’s own mech bay, a veritable army of techs scrambling over it, illuminated briefly in sprays of welding sparks. He thought it would be in worse shape having defeated a Kaijuu with a solo pilot only 48 hours ago but he can see that they are pushing the repairs as fast as they can.

Max’s voice is low, almost drowned out by the clatter of the mechanics. “The next attack?”

“Four days,” Valkyrie answers. When he shifts to look at her she puts a hand on her hip. “The Rig’ll be ready by then. The question is, will you be?” She taps his shoulder, a questioning look in her eyes.

He shrugs away her touch. “And what about her?” They both know he means Furiosa.

Valkyrie looks a little more grim. “She’ll have to be. These are our last days, Max. Soon we’ll be having Kaijuu attacks every seventy-two hours until they are coming every twenty-four, every six. Even before that our scientists say that we will start experiencing double events - two kaijuu coming through the Breach at a time. I only have three Jaegers left, Max, and one of those has only a single pilot. I’ll burn her out with the others until there’s nothing left if that’s what I must do to end this war.” Valkyrie’s voice is hard but she’s not tense. She’s almost...pleading with him, he realizes. “I don’t want to,” she continues, “but I will. All I ask is that you give it a shot. We’re at the end here. We fail and that’s it, game over. So ask yourself, would you rather die out there in bum-fuck-nowhere Alaska, or in a Jaeger?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. He’s standing in the Thunderdome.

Valkyrie smiles.

 

* * *

 

Max sleeps for the next nine hours, wearied by the trip from Alaska and from all the mental input he’s been subjected to since Valkyrie swooped back into his life. When he wakes he feels jittery in his skin, restless, as if something woke him. It takes him a few minutes to realize what it means, why the feeling is familiar _,_ and then he is rolling out of his bunk in the barracks, pulling on a shirt as he stumbles into the hallway barefoot.

He grabs the arm of the first person he sees. “The med bay, where is it?”

“S-second floor, northwest corner,” the boy replies, startled. Max is already turning to leave when the boy pipes up, “Hey, you one of the candidates?”

Max pauses, looks back. Candidates. Plural. His chest tightens.

“They probably won’t let you see the Imperator, if that’s what you’re after,” the boy goes on without waiting for an answer. “I’m one of the mechanics assigned to the Rig. I know one of the nurses, could probably get you in if you like?”

Max squints. “What’s your name?”

The boy beams. “Nux.”

“Max Rockatansky,” he replies, the name sounding rough in his own mouth. The boy nods.

“I thought so. My brother worked on the Interceptor at the ‘Dome in L.A. I’ve...seen pictures.” Nux sounds regretful, uncertain if he should bring it up. Surprisingly, his words don’t initiate the flashbacks Max sometimes gets. It’s strange but his head has been quiet ever since…

_Ever since you saw her._

Nux leads the way to the infirmary. It’s the early hours of the morning so thankfully the halls aren’t as busy as before. The med bay is lightly staffed as well - Max guesses the only serious patient at the moment is Furiosa - and Nux easily catches the attention of a nurse with flame-red hair.

“Capable!”

The nurse looks up from her clipboard, her sweet face lighting with a smile. “Nux! What are you doing here so early? I’ve still got—” She’s cut off by Nux giving her a quick kiss on the lips and grabbing her free hand.

“He wants to see Furiosa.” Nux imparts this information as if it’s some sort of vital secret, a fervor-like shine to his eyes. Capable’s eyebrows draw together and she turns her attention to Max, who realizes he probably looks like a complete wreck.

“It’s long past visitor hours,” she says warily, more to Nux than to Max. “She needs her rest.”

Nux shakes his head. “You don’t understand, he’s a _candidate_ …” Capable’s eyes widen and she looks at Max more closely, trying to read his motives. Max lets himself be seen. It’s the only way. He remembers this girl’s name from Furiosa’s file.

“She’s awake,” he tells her simply. “Let me see her.”

Capable makes some sort of sound, an “ _oh_ ” that catches in her throat. She’s watching him wide-eyed. “Room 4.”

He breezes past her and doesn’t even think before pushing into Room 4, the electricity along his skin telling him everything he needs to know. The room is dark, lit only by a small, cold nightlight in the corner, but he doesn’t bother stopping to flip the overheads on. He just crosses to the hospital bed, reaching over the railing as Furiosa lifts her bandaged arm and his fingers intertwine with hers easily, like keys in a lock. The charge rattling through him subsides into a warm hum, sinking into his skin, disappearing.

He exhales shakily, as if he’d just finished a sprint. He finds her eyes in the darkness.

“Hello,” he says, hoarsely.

“Hello,” she whispers. She squeezes his hand once.

There’s nothing more to say.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Hello Again

Max makes his escape just before dawn. Furiosa is asleep, still tangled up in the myriad of painkillers they probably have her on. He lays her limp hand carefully back down on the bed and rises from where he’d been sitting on the edge of it, stretching out his sore muscles. He looks down at her for a long moment, taking in the shorn hair, the bruising around her eyes, the pale look of her skin. She’s a fighter, he understands this about her innately, and she’s still fighting but it’s a battle that can’t be won. Not on her own. Valkyrie is right. Furiosa _needs_ a Drift-compatible co-pilot or she’s going to die.

Max absolutely does not want her to die. 

He doesn’t have to think hard on why that is. He sees too much of himself in her. Does that mean _he’s_ not ready to die? He’d thought he was ready once, slugging away on the Anti-Kaijuu Wall in Alaska but now he’s not sure. Furiosa is still fighting.

Maybe he should too.

  

* * *

 

Max splits his time that day between the gym and the media room. The gym because he’s starting to take all of this seriously and he wants to be ready to meet Furiosa in the match ring, and the media room because he needs to view some of Furiosa’s past drops.

The gym time goes smoothly. He’s in good shape from years of physical labor on the Wall. Valkyrie walks by at some point, arches a brow at him, and then walks away looking smug. He ignores her.

He has a random tech show him where the media room is. He flips through footage of Furiosa and her mother. Furiosa is young, lean, with fire in her eyes and in the way she pilots. Mary Jo echoes her but in a more tempered fashion, flame that’s been cooled, hardened into steel. Furiosa has become more like her mother over the years, he thinks.

He watches clips from both inside the cockpit and footage taken from helicopters following the action. Furiosa and Mary Jo work seamlessly together. They’re relentless, unbreakable, one solid impenetrable unit. They bag four kills together in five years but on the fifth they lose Mary Jo.

Max almost doesn’t want to see it, he knows what’s coming from Furiosa’s file, but he queues up the footage and watches in stony silence as War Rig’s cockpit is shredded by a Category 3, the whole left side torn away in a vicious attack in the middle of the Pacific ocean. Mary Jo manages to say her daughter’s name before she’s ripped away, lost to the night and the deep, deep waves. Furiosa screams from the mental agony of feeling her mother die, reflected in the Drift, and the pain of her own left side being shredded by Kaijuu claws. Furiosa will later lose that arm just below the elbow.

Then something extraordinary happens.

The War Rig’s plasma cannon on the right side - the side Furiosa controls - is out of charges. Crying with pain and anger, Furiosa switches the controls over to the damaged left hemisphere, her ruined left arm lifting the plasma cannon on her mother’s side and firing.

The Kaijuu dies and the footage cuts out.

Max leans back, throat tight. He knows the rest. Fueled by grief, fury, and physical pain, Furiosa manages to get the ruined Jaeger back to shore before passing out in the cockpit.

It’s the first time, but not the last, that she solo pilots a Jaeger.

 

* * *

  

Valkyrie comes to find him later. He’s sitting on a platform in the mech bay watching the ongoing repairs on the War Rig. Nux had waved at him earlier before climbing into the inner mechanical workings under the Rig’s left arm. The engineers are in full swing. They have less than three days until the next Kaijuu attack.

“See anything you like?”

Max shifts slightly and understands that she isn’t talking about the War Rig rising in front of them. Someone’s told her he’s been in the media room, perhaps even in the infirmary.

“She’s strong,” he concedes. Let Valkyrie chew on whether he means the Jaeger or Furiosa.

Valkyrie nods, seeming unperturbed. “You’ll try out then? We’re starting testing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” He can’t help the rough gravel snap to his voice. From what he’d seen in the med bay there was no way Furiosa would be up to spar with anyone by tomorrow. They’re pushing her again and some small part of himself that thinks it’s already connected to Furiosa growls in the dark of his mind like some wild beast.

“We’re all short on time,” Valkyrie answers. “We’ll be seeing our first Category 4’s soon. The Gigahorse has been recalled and the repairs on The Peacemaker will be finished today. I need every available machine ready to go.”

Max runs a hand over his face and gives Valkyrie what she has been asking for - a glimpse of his mind. “I haven’t Drifted with anyone since Jessie,” he says hoarsely. He wants to say more, to say he’s afraid that he can’t Drift anymore, that his mind can no longer be silent, that putting Furiosa in the middle of that might finally destroy the unbreakable Imperator. And he can’t be responsible for that, for killing hope.

As always though, Valkyrie hears some of what he does not say. “Seems like it might be time to try then, doesn’t it?” She says it quietly, reflectively. She’s not patronizing him.

He finds he can’t argue with her logic.

 

* * *

  

The candidate trials start at noon the next day. Valkyrie has, indeed, scrounged up other potential pilots besides himself - a couple of young hotshots that probably haven’t stepped foot outside a simulator. He watches from the sidelines as Furiosa stands in the center of the ring looking supremely annoyed. She’s got a staff in her hand but to Max it seems to be propping her up more than serving as a weapon. She’s still a bit too pale, green eyes looking all the brighter in her bruised face, but she is on her feet, shoulders set. She’s wearing a mechanical prosthetic hand in the place of her missing left arm.

The first candidate makes a go of it but seems to be actually afraid of Furiosa, a little too anxious. The Imperator makes short work of him even in her weakened state, turning to snap at Valkryie. “This is the best you could do?”

Valkyrie shrugs with one shoulder, arms crossed over her chest as she observers. Furiosa’s mouth is a tight, angry line when she turns to the second candidate and Max realizes something. Furiosa hasn’t Drifted with anyone since her mother. This is just as difficult for her as it is for him. Max’s heart calms a little and he rolls his shoulders, unseen weight falling away from him.

The second candidate seems desperate to prove herself and she attacks almost viciously as if this were a real fight instead of a test. Furiosa falls back under the onslaught, a little surprised by the tenacity of her opponent, and sweat starts to shine on her brow as she deflects the girl’s staff. Max watches as Furiosa gives ground, walking backwards in a circle. Her breathing becomes more labored, her moves slower, until the enthusiastic candidate seems to think she’s won. Then Furiosa, with the speed of a striking snake, lays the girl flat out with a hard blow to the stomach, the young candidate crumbling as the air rushes from her lungs. The watching crowd groans.

“Miss Sirel, more restraint please,” Valkyrie says calmly from the corner. “This is meant to be a dialogue, not a battle.”

Sirel nods weakly and is helped off the mat by two from the crowd. Furiosa walks back to the starting position in the middle and looks around for her next match. Valkyrie calls it out.

“Max, you’re up.”

The crowd parts to let him through but all Max can see is Furiosa. She looks a little surprised at the sight of him but then something flickers in her gaze and she looks slightly confused. He wonders if she remembers him being in her room in the med bay or if that moment was lost in a haze of drugs. She lifts her staff in readiness a moment later, however, looking cool and composed again.

“Begin,” Valkyrie says.

Max drops his staff. It lands with soft thud against the mat at his feet. Furiosa’s staff is already moving in her first strike and he sees the moment where she realizes it’s too late for her to call it back. It’s okay, he wants to say, it’s okay now.

He catches the end of her staff, stops the momentum and then sends it back to her. She blinks in surprise and then, amazingly, she grins before sending the staff swinging towards his head. He ducks and they move across the mat in a tango of steps, giving and taking, moving around each other as if they could read each other’s mind. If Max is a question, Furiosa is his answer, always right there where he knows she will be. Sometimes Max has the staff, sometimes Furiosa does but when they both end up on their knees, Max holding the staff against Furiosa’s throat, he knows. He might have known all along.

They are Drift compatible.

Both of them are breathing hard, a little star struck, but Furiosa leans across the intervening space, good arm reaching up to curl around his neck to press her forehead against his. The staff drops from his suddenly weak fingers. He curls his other hand over the nape of her neck, his fingers in her short hair.

“Hello,” she says gently, eyes closed, the corners of her mouth tipping up in a smile.

“Hello,” he breathes against her. He closes his eyes too, sinking into the feel of her near him.

He lives again.

 


	3. The Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Drift is always rough.

Furiosa is exhausted after the trials. She’s still recovering from soloing piloting the Rig - something she’d rather not have to do again, ever - and dueling with two candidates plus Max has left her weary on her feet.

Max.

Valkyrie had whisked him away for an immediate medical rundown with the intent of them doing a Drift sync test that evening. In the temporary privacy of her own mind Furiosa can admit to a little trepidation about it. She knows next to nothing about Max’s history, only that he was a former pilot and that he’d gotten out of the program when his co-pilot died. She remembers his name from when she’d been an active pilot herself but can’t recall many details. Valkyrie had said very little, giving her only the most basic background on each of the candidates that were up for testing. Max is much of a mystery to her. She should be full of questions for him but she finds that the trepidation she feels is more about _herself_ than him.

What will it be like to Drift with someone again after all this time? When her mother died, Furiosa was still connected to her so she still carries her mother’s memories, past emotions, skills. That’s a lot of baggage, honestly, and she frowns a bit to herself as she walks slowly to her bunk. Will Max be able to handle all of that? She feels unreasonably upset that he may not and silently berates herself. If not she’ll go back to working on restoring old Jaegers. She’s not really a pilot anymore anyway. She’d only gotten into the War Rig again because there was literally no other choice. She’ll go back to her job and they’ll have to find Max a new co-pilot, that’s all.

She feels tears well in her eyes at the thought and blinks them back furiously, cursing under her breath.  Just a hint of Drift-compatibility and she’s already a mess. It’s just been too long, she decides, she’s just out of practice.

Instead of going to her bunk, she’s makes a right turn and heads for the dining hall. She’ll get something to eat and build up her strength for the Drift test. It’s time she got back to some semblance of a normal routine anyway. Maybe afterwards she can rest a little and get her mind right for Max.

The cafeteria is actually pretty crowded which makes sense as everyone had probably headed there for lunch after viewing the trials. She gets several congratulations from tech crew members, most from those working on the War Rig as they’re excited about it getting back into the field properly. (Her solo pilot stunt doesn’t really count as it has been a last minute emergency act of desperation and not a true operation.) Ace stops her at one point to give her an update on the repairs while she wonders if it would look weak if she sat down for this. However, he’s joined a moment later by Rictus and she immediately straightens her spine to look down her nose at him even though he’s a foot taller. Rictus is a dumb son of a bitch and a bully but he’s also a pilot and she’ll be damned if she plays into his superiority complex.

“So, they finally found someone that actually wants to get into your head, huh?” he asks, grinning as if he’s made the world’s greatest joke as he lumbers over.

“My pants too, right?” she asks flatly, giving away his punchline before he could vocalize it. He looks dumfounded for a moment, thrown off track, before shaking his head.

“Maybe I should tell him what happened to the last guy that tried that. Wouldn’t want him getting shot in the head.”

The people within earshot go quiet, the lack of sound creeping through the entire cafeteria until Furiosa feels like everyone has turned to look at her and Rictus. Her body temperature shoots up along with her blood pressure and she feels her mind go a little white, filled with a high-pitched sound like a gun going off by her ear.

Next to her, Ace is scandalized and a little angry. “Here now, there’s no need for that sort of talk.” He takes a half step towards Rictus. Furiosa manages to lift a hand in a dismissive gesture before he can get too close to the big pilot.

“Don’t bother yourself, Ace. I’ve got work to do.” She turns on her heel and walks away. Only when she’s around the corner and no longer in view of the cafeteria does she collapse, leaning against the wall for a moment to catch her breath and try to calm her heart rate. It’s not a big deal, she reminds herself, everyone here knows your past. She just hadn’t been prepared to deal with it right then but Rictus saying something inappropriate was hardly news. He was a colossal asshole at the best of times.

She takes a deep breath and pushes away from the wall. She needs to find her equilibrium again and there’s really only one place to do that.

 

* * *

 

She’s hip deep in some tricky wiring in War Rig’s left leg when Max finds her again. With only one good hand (her mechanical one is a bit bulky for detail work) it can be a somewhat tricky doing manual repairs like this so Nux is sitting on a ladder nearby, handing her tools as she needs them and keeping up a train of small talk. Most of it is about her sister, Capable, so Furiosa doesn’t mind listening and Nux rarely requires any input from her to keep up his running dialogue.

She’s leaning down, twisting some cables into place when Nux cuts off in mid-sentence.

“Oh hey, Max!” the boy exclaims, twisting somewhat unsafely on the ladder. “Furiosa is working on a short in the electrical system. I’m helping.” She doesn’t have to see his face to know Nux is beaming in that enthusiastic puppy way of his. She rolls her eyes but can’t help smiling a little.

Max says something she can’t hear, his voice low. She can’t see him from inside the Rig’s heel but when she glances over her shoulder she can see Nux starting to climb down from the ladder. A moment later, it’s Max climbing up, ducking his head a little to see her inside the space she’s crawled into.

“Ace was looking for him,” he says easily and she nods, wondered if that were really true or if there was another reason he was there. Two hours from now she’ll know.

“Everything okay?” she asks, meaning the medical exam. Maybe other things too. He nods once, his eyes focused on her.

“You?”

She deliberately misunderstands him and grins a little. “They’re past caring if I pass my checkups or not.” She means it as a joke, maybe a bit of a dig on Valkyrie as medical exams get less and less relevant when a Kaijuu is attacking but she actually sees Max stiffen up, shoulders tensing as if he’s preparing himself for some kind of fight. Not with her, she doesn’t think, but his reaction makes the smile slip from her face and she pushes her safety goggles up so she can look him in the eye.

“I’m okay, Max,” she says softly. “Just tired.”

He watches her a long moment and then seems to make some sort of decision. “Right then. Come on.”

She blinks as he holds his hand out for her, moving towards him almost before she realizes it and then silently scowling at herself for it. _This could all still go very, very badly_ _,_ she tells herself. _Don’t get attached._

He takes her hand to help her out onto the ladder and then steadies it for her as she climbs down one-handed. Once she’s on the floor he takes her hand again without a pause and starts leading her towards the barracks. Even more surprisingly, she lets him. Normally she would have resented someone taking control of her like this but Max…

Something about him is just different. Maybe because she knows she could yank her hand away and go back to the Rig and he wouldn’t lift a finger to stop her. With Max, even when he leads she still feels like she has a choice. She’d felt it in the trial with him, too. Even when he had the upper hand she never felt like he was trying to overpower her.

They don’t say a word the entire way but somehow it’s not awkward. When they get to her room she stops and he lets her hand go, meeting her eyes for a moment that she knows it way too long.

“See you in a few,” he says and she nods, watches him walk down the hall to his own bunk. It takes her another moment to remember how her door works as she fumbles her way inside, mentally swatting herself.

Maybe it is a good time for a nap.

 

* * *

 

Seven o’clock rolls around and she’s in the comm-pod - what is basically the War Rig’s head and cockpit - getting suited up while a small crowd gathers on a balcony to the side to watch the show. She can see Rictus’ gigantor silhouette even from as high up as she is, that bastard.

The techs go about their work, clicking together different pieces of her suit. Max is not there yet and she has to force herself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s just running late, maybe Valkyrie is briefing him on some last minute point, maybe he didn’t find out about her and take off before he was forced to mind meld with a murderer.

She laughs a little, brokenly, and the tech checking her helmet gives her an odd look. “Okay in there?”

She nods once, dismissively, and pulls herself together. It doesn’t matter. If Max doesn’t show it won’t be the first time time she’s stood alone in War Rig’s cockpit.

Max does show up though just as she is stepping into the big mechanical harness that will allow her to control the right side of the Jaeger. He looks a little hassled, a team of techs trailing him with various suit parts. He looks for her immediately as the clamps come down over her shoulders, catching her eyes urgently with his own as if he knew somehow that she had begun to doubt.

“Had a problem with the spinal jack. It’s fixed,” he says, a little out of breath. Had he run to get here, knowing she would think he’d let her down? She exhales the breath she’d been holding and nods jerkily inside her helmet.

“You’re late,” she says, her voice steadier than she feels. “You get the left side.” The left side is typically the less dominant but she waves the stump of her left arm to let him know she doesn’t mean it. She couldn’t drive the left side even if she wanted to.

For the first time she sees a tiny curl of a smile cross Max’s face just as it disappears into his sleek black helmet. Furiosa has to admit, the suits now are so much better than the clunky things she started out in.

Once they are both locked in, the techs give them both a clap on the shoulder for luck and then exit, the comm-pod doors hissing shut behind them. The sound makes something clench in Furiosa’s chest and she turns to look over at Max only to find him looking at her, a little pale in the face. She doesn’t know how much prep he’s had, if Valkyrie has told him about her past so she feels like she owes him one last out.

“It’s not too late,” she says quietly, “There’s still time if you’d rather not to do this. There’s no shame in walking away.” She believes this absolutely. She cannot walk away, it’s too late for her but Max has been out of the game a long time. She won’t blame him if he wants to stay free of all this, let the past die as it should.

But Max simply says, “I’m with you.” Furiosa swallows her relief.

Valkyrie’s voice starts the countdown in her ear. “Alright you two. Sync test commencing. Neural handshake in five...four...three...two...one.”

There’s a whooshing sound like standing next to a large waterfall and then the rigging jerks as both she and Max take a step backwards like they’ve been punched in the stomach. Furiosa can’t see, momentarily blind as images, memories, fill her mind’s eye. _S_ _he’s a child, running through a dusty field, laughing as someone scoops her up, ruffles her hair. She’s learning to ride a bike, then a motorcyle, leather against her skin. She fucks a girl named Claire behind her school on a late afternoon. She gets drunk for the first time and throws up in a seedy bathroom. She drives out into the plains at night and looks at the stars. She meets her wife at a friend’s party and takes her to listen to music on their first date. She gets married, moves into a dumpy little apartment that Jessie loves. They make love in the morning in soft sunlight and Jessie laughs like quarter notes in her ear. She gets offered a place as a pilot in the Jaeger program in LA so they move across the ocean. Her wife flies commercial craft so they draft her too because they’re compatible and it’s easy. They pilot giant robots across the sea floor to kill monsters and laugh about it later when the Drift is over and they’re lying tangled up in each other. Jessie tells her she’s pregnant and they take a ride out into the plains to feel the wind in their hair. Jessie loses the baby but it’s okay, there will be others. She breaks down silently, locked in a bathroom, when Jessie is diagnosed with cancer. It takes her two years to die. She stops stops flying and stops living, mindlessly following the Wall for work until this world is done with her. Never dying, never living, just surviving._

Furiosa gasps like she’s been underwater, surfacing from Max’s memories and emotions shakily. She let’s them slide past her, trying not to focus on any particular one. She can feel Max in her head now, swimming through her own current of memories and Valkyrie’s voice is in her ear.

“Good. Neural handshake complete.”

There’s no way to properly describe having someone else in your head. The amount of trust it takes to Drift with someone, certainly someone you don’t know well, is immense. Drifting with someone means they know everything about you instantly - your fears, your regrets, your mistakes, your joys. Max knows everything she has done now, everything that was done to her, so it takes her a moment to look over at him, to face him.

She doesn’t have to say anything, they’re in each other heads. She just looks at him and he looks back and she understands. _It’s okay. Everything’s okay now_ and _I would have done the same._ Furiosa closes her eyes briefly, hollowed out by the benediction.

Valkyrie runs them through a series of movements with the Jaeger, testing their control and synchronization. They pass with flying colors, each hemisphere reacting in perfect unison. Distantly Furiosa can hear the watching crowd applaud as they cycle easily through the test sets.

Then an alarm goes off. It’s part of the test but suddenly Furiosa is twenty-seven again and she’s screaming as her mother is bodily pulled from the cockpit, sparks flying as the Kaijuu rips her away, it’s claws tearing through the steel like paper. The memory is so strong, so vivid that it blindsides her, buckles her. The alarm is still buzzing in her ear. _Warning, desynchronization 15%._

“Furiosa.” It’s Valkyrie. “Come back to center.”

“Give me a sec,” Furiosa pants. “Let me control it.” It’s a struggle but she feels her mind realigning with the machine, the only problem is Max is no longer there.

“You’re looking better but Max is way out,” Valkyrie says. Furiosa turns to find Max standing stock still, staring into the middle distance. Her flashback must have force him out of sync as well.

She can’t reach out and touch him from where’s she locked into the Rig but she calls out to him, keeping her voice calm, gentle but firm. “Max. Max, come back. It’s okay. I’m here.” She doesn’t know what he’s seeing but she can see him shaking, the mechanical leads he’s in are rattling. His breath is coming faster, heart rate rising. “Max!”

She tries to reach out to him mentally and suddenly she’s standing in the ruins of Los Angeles. Ash and debris is everywhere, buildings toppled, destroyed. Somewhere out in the city a Kaijuu roars. Furiosa turns to find Max standing behind her. He’s in civilian clothes, blood running down his temple from a cut over his eyes and he’s covered in dust. He’s staring at a crushed automobile on the side of the street, a woman’s arm hangs lifeless out the window, a gold bracelet twinkling in the dim light. Max is transfixed by it and she can almost hear him thinking, _It’s my fault. I stopped fighting and now they’re dead. They’re all dead dead dead dead_

“Max!” she shouts. “It’s just a memory. It’s not real. None of this real!” She doesn’t touch him. He can’t see her or feel her, he doesn’t remember her here. She calls to him again and again until her voice cracks but he’s stuck in this moment in time, he’s—

There’s another whoosh by her ear and Furiosa gasps as her connection to Max and to the Rig is severed. Valkyrie has shut down the sync from her end before they could do any damage to the Jaeger. Furiosa unlocks herself and steps out of the rigging, tearing off her helmet as she hurries over to Max who is still out of it, eyes wide and unseeing. She gets him out of the leads, takes off his helmet as well as he crumbles into her arms and she has no choice but to go down with him, cradling him against her chest on the floor. Furiosa rocks back and forth, running a gloved hand through his hair, out of breath.

“It’s okay,” she manages, “It’s okay now.”

The crowd outside is silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles next time, I swear! Also, please be aware that I updated the tags.


	4. Unfiltered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The post-Drift hangover.

Pilots don’t usually talk about what happens after a Drift. Depending upon the relationship between the two pilots, many different things can happen. Coming out of having your mind so closely linked with another person makes separation almost devastating. It gets easier as time goes on but it’s never completely _easy_ . For some amount of time two people were one person and becoming _two_ again can be traumatic.

Furiosa is curled up on her bed with Max, their foreheads pressed together, Furiosa’s hand carding through his hair, Max’s arms around her waist, their legs tangled together. Max’s eyes are closed but Furiosa’s are open, gazing idly down to where Max’s leg is thrown over hers. She’s not really seeing it though, not even really thinking. She’s feels shaky, out of sorts but that’s mostly the echo of Max’s feelings so she hums to him a little and runs her fingers through his hair because that is what her mother used to do to calm her down after a rough Drift.

And there was no doubt that their first Drift was rough. She was sure Valkyrie would have some choice words for them later but Furiosa can’t really bring herself to care at that moment. The point is that before Furiosa pushed them out of sync they were _perfect_. It was her fault Max got caught up in a memory and she’ll make sure Valkyrie knows that when she sees her.

Max’s arm tightens around her waist and he makes a grumbly sort of sound in his throat as if to say he disagrees with that notion. She tries to hide a smile and fails. He may not be able to read her mind at the moment but for awhile there he was her. He knows how she thinks now.

“Fine,” she mutters, “Have it your way.” She goes back to stroking his hair and he sighs, relaxing again.

They stay like that for a long time, floating in the warmth of each other’s presence, content just to be near each other. Furiosa has missed being so close to another person and she knows it’s the same for Max. She sleeps a little, on and off, and every time she wakes they’re closer, more tangled than before until a sharp rap on her door startles her awake to find herself pressed tight against Max’s chest. Max starts at the sudden sound as well, immediately shifting so that he is half on top of her, his back between her and the door. Her good arm is trapped underneath her so she settles for rubbing the curve of her nose against his throat in a soothing touch.

“Mission debrief in ten minutes in the control room!” a voice shouts through the door. They both groan. Looks like Valkyrie’s done letting them escape her wrath.

“We go together.” Max’s voice is gravel on a hot day but his eyes are fierce, focused. Furiosa nods.

“Together.”

Of course.

 

* * *

 

Valkyrie eyes them sternly and says, “You two get your shit together. Dismissed.”

Then she goes back to her paperwork.

 

* * *

 

They make their way to the cafeteria slightly stunned.

Max looks over at her carefully. “Did you…?”

Furiosa shakes her head, flummoxed. “Nope.”

“Hmmm.”

 

* * *

 

After grabbing a bite to eat in the cafeteria they head back to the barracks. It’s late and both of them will need some real sleep if they’re going to get back in a Jaeger together tomorrow. They reach Max’s bunk first and Furiosa pauses, torn. She _should_ go back to her own room, take a shower and hit the rack but the fact that her bunk is two halls over suddenly seems incredibly far. Just the thought of Max being out of her eyesight makes her stomach drop. She shivers at the idea but prepares to bite the bullet. They’re both adults, for heaven’s sake, and both of them have been through this type of separation anxiety before. She’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Totally fine.

She opens her mouth to tell him goodnight when he abruptly reaches up and puts both hands on the side of her head and leans down to press his forehead against hers in what’s quickly becoming their self-soothing comfort touch. She breathes out shakily at the contact and curls her hand into the fabric of his shirt.

He doesn’t say anything but she knows he wants her to stay. This is his way of asking.

“Okay,” she says.

She takes a quick shower in his bathroom with the curtain closed while Max sits on the toilet lid and flips through the recent report on the Breach. He hands her a towel when she’s done and then trades places with her, hopping into the shower while she borrows one of his old t-shirts to wear to bed. When they’re both clean they crawl into Max’s bed, languid from the warm water and from each other’s presence. They lay facing each other, Furiosa’s fingers intertwined with his.

“If you want to ask, I will tell you,” she whispers to the darkened room. Max already knows everything she might say and it would be easy to sink into the silence of the Drift but Furiosa understands that sometimes certain things just have to be said aloud to have meaning.

“You killed him.”

She nods against the pillow. “Yes.”

“Because of Angharad.”

“Yes, but also for myself.” She pauses. “I’m sorry that you had to see—”

Max shifts, his big, blunt fingers cover her lips, stilling the words. “Don’t.” His throat works as he searches for the words. “I’m sorry you were alone.”

She manages a half-smile because it’s him. “You’re here now,” she says, and means it.

 

* * *

 

Max should be freaking out but he’s not. His mind is the most calm it’s ever been. He should be running from this, from how much she’s depending on him, but just the thought of walking out of the room without her makes his skin crawl. Technically, he understands that there is a neurological reason for that and that if he were to actually walk out of the room he wouldn’t spontaneously combust. It definitely _feels_ that way though, because he depends on her, too. He didn’t even know all his empty spaces until she stepped into them.

She’s sleeping now, the long lines of her pressed up against him as if seeking warmth. He rests his chin on top of her head and breathes in her clean scent, more than a little hypnotized. She’s amazing. Pure and simple. He’s seen all of her deepest, darkest secrets - her _mother’s_ secrets - and if anything it had only deepened his respect for her. He understood now why they chanted her name in the Thunderdome. Because apparently, besides being one of the best pilots in ages, she’s also _kind_ . Furiosa _cares_ about the people she works with, her friends and family. She’s not afraid to show her emotions and that surprises him. He had been half expecting a rock solid ice queen from all the rumors about her but the reality is so much more.

She’s everything.

It should scare him how much he trusts her but all he can feel is...relief? contentment? Furiosa is his match in every way, their first Drift had confirmed it. He cannot imagine working with anyone else the way it feels working with her. It doesn't feel like a betrayal to Jessie to think that, either, because she was brilliant in a different way. Jessie was his foil, she had a mind that clarified and calmed his, but with Furiosa there is no foil. Her mind rages within his, raw and empowering and unfiltered. Furiosa holds nothing back.

The two of them will burn together or not at all.

 

* * *

 

The post-Drift hangover has mostly passed by morning. Furiosa goes back to her bunk to get some fresh clothes and Max is just able to restrain himself from following her. It’s a close call. He’s pulling on a new shirt when the master alarm goes off.

Kaijuu in the Breach.

He bursts out into the hallway to a chaos of activity. No one is running but everyone is moving with purpose, calling out orders, scrambling for the mech bay or the command center. Max swings by Furiosa’s room, finds it empty, and heads up to the command room. She’s waiting for him when he arrives, anticipation in her eyes and he puts himself at her shoulder as Valkyrie clears her throat.

“Category 4,” she calls out, “About fifty miles off the coast and headed this way. Peacemaker will take the lead on this one.” Valkyrie nods to Bullet and his co-pilot. “War Rig, you’re on backup. Don’t make me regret it.”

“ _What?_ ” Rictus screeches nearby. Max can barely pay attention to him though because he can literally feel Furiosa’s excitement growing. She looks up at him, grinning, and he grins back helplessly. They’re going out again, into the wild.

Just where they’re meant to be.

 

* * *

 

The Drift this time is textbook perfect. They don’t get distracted by each other’s memories, they just absorb them, recognize them as part of _themselves_ now. There is no _separate_. Everything Furiosa knows, Max also knows. Furiosa is a second-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Max can speak passing Italian.

“Together we can rule the world,” Furiosa says mildly, reading his thoughts, her voice coming through the comm in his helmet. Max huffs but can’t help the smile that slips out as he turns back to their array of monitors, scanning the area for Kaijuu signatures. Peacemaker, a gun-riddled Jaeger with twin shoulder cannons, is ahead of them about a mile out.

Surprisingly, the mission goes off without a hitch. When the Kaijuu finally emerges, Peacemaker is there to greet it with an array of weaponry the likes of which Max has never seen. The Kaijuu does manage to break away for a few moments but is pushed back from the coastline by Max and Furiosa and a square punch to the face. By the time it’s finally dead, it’s blood a blue slick of contamination on the waves, they are sweating from the mental and physical work out but they’re exhilarated.

Valkyrie was right. Piloting a Jaeger is what Furiosa is meant to do in this world and he can only think that he has survived this long because he is meant to help her do it.

It’s a good feeling.  
  



	5. A New Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, there's no excuse for how late this is. I've had it written for ages but I just sort of fell off the map and let it sit and molder. Hopefully this conclusion will bring myself, and perhaps others, some closure.

They kill four Kaijuu over the next three weeks - one time being flown as far as the Philippines to meet a strike team from Hong Kong sent to intercept a Kaijuu headed for the islands. They learn to anticipate and compliment each other’s actions, to work as one unit until they are doing it in complete silence, words no longer needed.

They return from the Philippines exhausted and a little banged up but mentally stronger than ever. Max’s knee is bothering him, an old injury flaring to life after hours of trudging along the coast in what amounted to a giant elliptical from hell. He’s got various other cuts and scrapes from being knocked around in the Jaeger but he’s mostly worried about Furiosa who suffered a concussion. A section of the safety rigging had come loose and hit her in the side of the head after a particularly vicious attack from a Category 4. She’d lost consciousness briefly and had vomited twice on the way back to Sydney but the goose egg on the side of her head has gone down and she seems more alert, if tired.

At the Thunderdome, both of them are shipped off to the infirmary where Capable tells him they’d have to keep Furiosa overnight as a precaution. Max agrees but puts his foot down when they try to shoo him out.

“I’m staying,” he tells them roughly, fingers clenching around the side rail on Furiosa’s hospital bed. Capable hides a small smile at the staff doctor’s long-suffering expression but brings Max an extra blanket and a pillow when he makes it clear he’s really not leaving.

“So difficult,” Furiosa murmurs, her eyes at half mast, so exhausted she can barely keep them  open. He reaches out to run a hand over the side of her head that’s not covered in bandages. Her eyes close all the way with a gentle sigh.

“I get it from you,” he says quietly. He feels her faint smile against his thumb.

“That excuse won’t work forever.”

“Long enough, I think.”

He takes the railing down on one side of her bed and she scoots over enough that he’s somehow able to squeeze himself in next to her, arms curled around her waist, head pillowed on her shoulder. She tilts her head to rest against the top of his as he puts one leg protectively over hers. They both exhale when they’re finally as close as they're going to get in their condition.

“You can ask me,” Furiosa breathes sleepily against his hair. “I know it’s been on your mind.”

It would have been impossible to keep it from her. There are a few things that have gotten stuck in his head lately, things he’d seen in the Drift but couldn’t quite make sense of. None of it changes how he feels about Furiosa herself so he’s been reluctant to bring it up. Furiosa is giving him permission to.

“How did your mother not know?” he asks, watching his fingers drift down her good arm. He’d noticed it on their second Drift, when things were easier. Despite all the accounts from her file there were no scenes of sexual abuse in her head except for one and that particular one had not revolved around her but around Angharad. It was the event that made her put a gun to Joe’s head and pull the trigger. He gets feelings sometimes, echoes of pain, anger, and shame but there is nothing to _see_. He doesn’t understand it.

“That one is easy,” Furiosa answers. “I closed my eyes.”

Max’s heart sinks and he shifts up, lifting his head so he can look into her face. Green eyes blink open and whatever she reads in his expression makes her raise her hand to touch his cheek.

“He threatened to hurt my sisters,” she says simply. “He said he would get my mother thrown out of the Jaeger program. I couldn’t allow that. I wanted my mother away from him and my sisters safe. Joe was a big-wig in the upper ranks of Pan-Pacific at the time. He could have hurt us badly.”

Max feels caught between misplaced anger and horrible grief. “He _did_.”

Furiosa is watching him evenly. “But just me.”

Until Angharad and he knows that was the tipping point, her line in the sand. Angharad had gotten into a car accident, upset over her mother’s recent death. At the hospital, the doctors discovered that she was six weeks pregnant and showed signs of sexual abuse. She and the baby died a day later and Furiosa went home to kill her stepfather. Pan-Pacific pulled some strings and covered it up after a paternity test confirmed Joe was the father.

Max presses his face into her neck and Furiosa sighs, rubbing her palm over his shoulder. “It was a long time ago, Max. He’s dead. He’s been dead for years. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

But the image of Furiosa tightly closing her eyes to protect her mother from catching a clue in the Drift  while her stepfather rapes her is one he can’t shake. “Is that why she thought you had a drinking problem?” he asks, the words pressed against her skin, knowing she’ll follow his line of thought. He feels her nod.

“I was afraid just blocking out sight wasn’t enough,” she confesses. “Afterwards, I would get roaring drunk so any memories there were would be fuzzy.”

Max can’t help the strangled moan that slips out between clenched teeth, the sound like that of a wounded animal. Furiosa’s hand moves soothingly down his back and she speaks again, softly 

“Everything’s okay now, Max. I took care of it.”

The heartbeat under his ear never wavers, unbreakable.

 

* * *

 

The ‘dome in Hong Kong sends word the next day that they are working on a plan to seal the Breach - the source of the Kaijuu on the seafloor. _After one of their scientists drifted with a Kaijuu brain_. Valkyrie gives the pilots this news with a straight face but Furiosa feels like her own expression is one big question mark and Max looks vaguely suspicious. Rictus just looks constipated and she’s not sure Bullet is even paying attention.

“I wish I were joking but apparently it’s a thing,” Valkyrie remarks glibly. She taps the monitor in front of her, bringing up different files. “We’ll be sending all three teams out as backup. Predictions say we’ll experience a double event in about twelve hours.” She straightens and her eyes find each of them in turn. “This is it, ladies and gentlemen. If we can’t close the Breach now we’re never going to close it. Hong Kong is retrofitting one of their Jaegers with a nuclear warhead. You three will clear the road for them, give them space to take it down and then get out of there.”

“We’ve tried bombing it in the past, nothing gets through.” Furiosa says, brows drawn together in confusion. “What’s different this time?”

“I don’t have all the details,” Valkyrie admits, “but our mission is clear. We keep the monsters off their backs so they can make the play. Understood?”

“Understood,” they chorus.

 

* * *

 

Furiosa doesn’t like being underwater in a Jaeger. She’s never said this aloud but Max knows it from the Drift. It makes her feel trapped, on edge, like there’s no way out. For her, trudging along behind the Hong Kong team on the ocean floor as the water gets darker and darker is a descent into hell. She bears it well on the outside but on the inside her mind...trembles. It’s a strange feeling for Max. He doesn’t like it. The sooner they’re back up at the surface, in the sunlight, the better.

“I can’t see a thing,” Furiosa mutters at their useless visual nav screen. War Rig’s exterior lights barely reach ten feet in front of them in the inky blackness. “Switching to instruments.”

_“Movement. 10 ’o clock_ ,” Valkyrie’s voice crackles over the comm. Max turns his head, checking the monitors and displays on his side. There nothing. Max frowns.

“I don’t see anything.”

Ahead of them, the Hong Kong team - Gipsy Danger and Striker Eureka - are five hundred feet from the Breach which glows molten gold as they get closer, providing some light at last in the darkness.

_“Movement in the Breach.”_

Max tenses and feels Furiosa do the same as Striker Eureka radios back. _“How big is it?”_

There’s a brief pause from Hong Kong. _“Category 5. First one ever.”_

After that, things happen quickly. The Category 5 is massive, bigger even than a Jaeger. It rises from the Breach like something out of a horror film and immediately attacks Striker Eureka. The radio fills with calls and shouts from the different Jaegers. Max and Furiosa move forward to flank the Category 5 when, out of nowhere, a Category 4 slams into them from the side. It’s mouth clamps on to the Rig’s left arm and _crunches_ , ripping off the mechanical limb and slithering away again in the dark.

The attack is so sudden, so quick, that there is almost a delay between the damage to the Jaeger and the connection to Max’s brain. When it does finally hit him, Max screams, the sound ripped from his throat.

Cracks in the hull spray water into the cockpit and alarms blare loudly. Red lights flash. Furiosa shouts something and Max feels his right arm lift with hers as she deploys War Rig’s sword and turns the Jaeger in time to catch the Category 4’s second charge, the big blade slicing down through the Kaijuu’s shoulder. It roars in pain, it’s claws tearing into the Rig’s right side. Furiosa makes a hurt sound through gritted teeth and that is what snaps Max out of his own mental anguish and back into the present.

Together they force the Rig’s blade down, essentially cutting the Kaijuu in two, its interdimensional death cry echoing through their cockpit. Ahead of them Striker Eureka is getting pounded by the Category 5, with The Peacemaker trying to run interference. The Gigahorse seems to be down and Max catches the two bursts of bubbles and sudden jettison of twin escape pods as they rise towards the surface. Alarms are blaring in his ears, reminding him that their own situation isn’t much better. The War Rig’s left arm is gone and the right leg is shredded, barely able to hold the massive machine aloft. Furiosa plants their sword in the sandy sea bottom and uses it as a crutch to keep them upright.

When Striker Eureka blows the nuclear warhead it’s carrying, it takes out the remaining Category 4’s while Gipsy Danger - the only truly functional Jaeger left - impales the nearly dead Category 5 and falls into the breach with it.

The blast wave from the underwater nuclear explosion knocks the War Rig off it’s feet and Max feels the moment where Furiosa realizes there’s nothing more they can do. The Rig is done and if Gipsy Danger completes her mission, there will be do more need for the Jaeger anyway.

Silently, in unison, they activate the sequence that lifts them up into their separate escape pods, exchanging one final look before the escape doors are sealed and they rise away from the dark, towards the light.

* * *

  


When Max wakes up it’s to a sterile med room in Hong Kong’s Shatterdome, an oxygen mask over his face and Furiosa’s cold fingers clasping his. He takes stock of her before anything else. She’s pale and drawn, bruises under her eyes. She’s wearing a pair of sleep shorts because her right leg is wrapped up to the knee. She’s missing her prosthetic arm and she just looks… lost. Her fingers squeeze his tightly and he realizes something happened. He can’t remember anything after getting in the escape pod. 

Looking down, he sees he still has all his limbs, though his left arm is wrapped as tightly as Furiosa’s leg. Electrical burns, he thinks, mirroring the damage War Rig had taken. Other than that, besides some bumps and bruises, he seems in one piece, though his head hurts a bit. He sends a questioning look to Furiosa, squeezing her fingers gently.

“You…your oxygen was low. They say you lost consciousness on the way up,” she says hoarsely. His expression pinches at the sound of it. Has she been shouting? Screaming? His eyes scan her body again. Does she have other injuries he can’t see? “They told me they couldn’t read your heartbeat. I… didn’t take it so well,” she admits. Her shoulders are tight and she folds in on herself a little, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before.

Gathering strength he isn’t sure he has, he scoots over in the bed, away from her, and motions with his head towards the small empty space next to him, reaching out a hand to her because he doesn’t mind bridging the gap when she can’t. It takes her a moment but she reaches back and slips into the bed with him, still stiff and anxious until he turns a little to press his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes and breathes her air, as close as he can get without the Drift.

“Hello,” he murmurs, his voice scratchy and dry. The tension seeps out of Furiosa’s lithe body and she melts into him until the lines between them can’t be drawn.

“Hello,” she whispers back.

 

* * *

 

They spend a week at the Shatterdome recovering, a day debriefing from the last mission, and endless hours doing media interviews both by themselves and with the other pilots involved in sealing the Breach. For Gipsy Danger had done her job and the crack between worlds had been destroyed. They had lost Striker Eureka and it’s pilots but they had gained the rewards of their sacrifice - their freedom.

It seems strange to think that there were no more Jaegers left in the world. The last of them had been left at the bottom of the ocean, silent sentinels guarding the last battlefield. Furiosa isn’t sure what to think of that. She’s sad she lost War Rig - something she had shared with both her mother and Max - but there is some measure of relief in knowing it’s over, in knowing that she can sleep at night without wondering when monsters would next rise from the deep.

She does miss the Drift a little. It was strange. After her mother, she thought she would never drift again, but now that she has Max she finds she does feel the loss of that connection sometimes. She can longer read his thoughts with a glance or feel his emotions. She has to ask and feel and touch but those things are no longer as hard for her as they might have been before. Max is changing her and he, in turn, has been changed by her.

He spoke more, perhaps because he too felt the absence of the Drift, and he was more tactile, his big hands smoothing over her skin. They are never far from each other, most times within eyesight. There had been a bad day, early in the week, where Max had had to attend a meeting to procure some paperwork for their flight back home and the strain of their separation had almost driven him mad. She’d been half asleep at the time, her dreams dark and troubled in answer to his mental turmoil, and she had woken abruptly when he burst into her room, eyes wide and chest heaving, his hands shaking as he crushed her to him.

After that, they didn’t bother keeping separate rooms.

The next evening, they had sex for the first time.

Furiosa had somewhat expected it but she had not been prepared for Max’s care of her in bed. He let her lead, following her spoken and unspoken directions and she returned that trust by coaxing an orgasm from him that stole his breath and left him weak and sweating in her arms. They lay together for a long time afterwards, barely needing to speak, their nearness enough to smooth any nerves made tight by the stress of the last few days.

Now, it seems like the calm after the storm. She and Max would be flying home in the morning, the world is safe, and though she feels a little unbalanced about what her life will look like going forward, she feels that things will work out somehow. Max will be with her and that’s really all she needs.

 

* * *

  


Valkyrie greets them on the tarmac when they get back. She takes a pointed look at their joined hands, the crowd of waiting people shouting their names, and smiles with the self-satisfaction of someone pleased with themselves.

“Told you so,” she says to Max.

 

* * *

 

Furiosa dreams of the ocean sometimes, dark and cold, and remembers the heaviness of it, the closeness, but she’s never alone in that endless dark. There’s always a presence near her shoulder, a warm wall between her and whatever lies beneath the waves. And when she wakes to see stars glinting over her head, Max curled up next to her, breathing softly into her ear, the blankets tangled around them in their makeshift campsite, she doesn’t feel afraid. Whatever comes, whatever waits out there, they’ll face it together. Tomorrow they’ll get back on Max’s bike and she’ll feel the wind against her skin and she’ll breathe fresh air and Max will crack a rueful smile when he thinks she’s not looking.

The road beneath them goes on and on and they will find the end of it together or not at all. For between the shores of their souls, the sands of their minds, lies their future.


End file.
